


The Cowards

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Courtroom Drama, Emetophobia, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Trials, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: It wasn't reasonable to expect a technician to act like a front-line soldier.  Deathsaurus was known for being a fair leader.So why was Fulcrum on trial for his life?
Comments: 37
Kudos: 61





	1. Folsom Prison Blues

**Author's Note:**

> When I first met Fulcrum in MTMTE, I assumed his "trial and sentencing" was the result of corrupt "cartoon-bad-guy" Decepticon leaders expecting their troops to throw their lives away on the leader's order, no matter how unreasonable that order might be. I was jarred to find out later that Fulcrum had been under Deathsaurus's command - the one Decepticon leader canonically known for being good to his troops. 
> 
> "The Cowards" is my way of reconciling those two facts.
> 
> It's also my way of looking at the dark side of Deathsaurus. I love this character, and I like to write him as a "hero." But he's a long way from perfect, and his unique worldview has some terrifying drawbacks. So this is a story where I get to look at Deathsaurus's shortcomings.
> 
> #

Fulcrum bitterly cursed the day he’d accepted a transfer to Deathsaurus’s Warworld. 

_Oh, you’re so lucky, Fulcrum. Oh, you’ve got a decent commander who’ll treat you like a person rather than a piece of equipment._

_Right. Sure. Deathsaurus is the best of all possible leaders._

_That’s why you’re on trial for your life._

Fulcrum couldn’t possibly be found guilty of the charge laid against him. He had logic on his side. He, one scrawny technician, could not reasonably be expected to stand up against a squad of Autobot soldiers. By running away, he’d preserved his knowledge and skill that could be used in future in service of the Decepticon Cause. By staying to fight, that knowledge and skill would have been lost, and all for nothing: a mech like him would barely slow down four Autobot killers. 

There was, of course, a small problem with his defense: he’d fled off-world and told no one where he was or where he was going. But that was a crime worthy of some hard labor or perhaps a stint in the brig. That’s what happened to other people on the Warworld when they were absent without leave. Unpleasant, but survivable. 

Fulcrum tried not to think about the fact that those absences usually involved short-term offenses. Things like getting overcharged on leave and failing to make it back on schedule, or delays while black-market trading with the locals, or losing track of time during an intimate rendezvous, or things of that nature. Not weeks of deliberate evasion of the Warworld soldiers who were looking for him. 

Deep breath. He’d be fine. Everyone said that Deathsaurus was a good person who cared about his troops. That he looked like a monster, but didn’t act the part. 

So why was Fulcrum going on trial for _petty treason_? 

Fulcrum felt a chill crawl up his spinal strut. It was a higher charge than desertion. He’d barely been able to get a clear answer out of his own defence council. All Blue Bacchus had said to him was that _petty treason_ meant _a betrayal of his fellow soldiers_. 

Fulcrum supposed that _high treason_ would be an attempt to kill or usurp a superior officer, which he honestly hadn’t ever dreamed of doing in his entire life. He knew his place. He was built to use his brain, not his body, and he wouldn’t want a warlord’s job. Pit, he wouldn’t even want his supervisor’s job. 

All he and Blue Bacchus had to do would be to convince the court that Fulcrum had made reasonable decisions given the situation. He’d even be willing to plea bargain—plead guilty to being absent without leave, and he’d receive a punishment, but he’d get through it. He _would_. 

Fulcrum repeated those thoughts over and over to himself as he walked into the courtroom—which was usually Briefing Room Six—and took his place on the defense bench next to Blue Bacchus. 

Yet Fulcrum couldn’t suppress a shiver as he saw Leozack climb to the judge’s throne. 

“I-I thought Deathsaurus would be presiding,” Fulcrum stammered. 

Blue Bacchus inclined his head. “Deathsaurus is still in the medbay.” 

Fulcrum felt his fuel tank sink. He didn’t know if this was good or bad. Part of him felt relieved not to have to face Deathsaurus’s ire. The other part of him was worried about Leozack trying his case. Deathsaurus was known to be a straight shooter. Leozack was known for being slippery and cunning, a charmer, but perhaps not to be trusted. 

And then there was the fact that Fulcrum been on the run for several weeks, and Deathsaurus had not yet been released from the medbay. That didn’t bode well for the condition of the Warworld’s commander. Or for the mood among his troops. 

Fulcrum’s gaze crept to the other side of the courtroom. The mech sitting on the prosecutor’s bench was…Jallguar? 

Jallguar was a follower, not a leader. He was loyal, steadfast, reliable—but not particularly creative. Fulcrum didn’t know him very well. Jallguar was quiet and tended to associate with the same handful of mechanisms: Deathsaurus, Drillhorn, Killbison. Plus, he was a stealth recon specialist, an expert at not being seen. Fulcrum’s impression of him was that he wasn’t the sneaky sort that usually gravitated to surveillance jobs. Jallguar was introverted, always hesitant and awkward around strangers. The kind who felt safer when he was unnoticed. Fulcrum could relate. Maybe Jallguar would sympathize with him. 

Fulcrum checked out the jury. Drillhorn. Killbison. Guyhawk. Fulcrum felt his spark sink. So much for a jury of his peers. The box was stacked with Deathsaurus’s command crew. Lyzack. Mortua. Blueprint. Fulcrum forced a deep breath. Lyzack was nice. She’d be fair. Mortua wouldn’t win awards for bedside manner, but she was calm and logical and methodical. Blueprint was Fulcrum’s project supervisor, and Fulcrum had to admit that she was the best manager he’d ever had: competent, inspiring, supportive, encouraging. He was glad she hadn’t been on site when the Autobots had attacked. 

Fulcrum didn’t know the seventh juror, other than that he was called Browning. He had no way of knowing how Browning might vote. 

“This court is called to order,” Leozack said. “On trial is Fulcrum of Vaporex, charged with petty treason. Fulcrum, how do you plead?” 

“Not guilty.” Fulcrum felt relieved that he’d kept the static from his voice. 

“The prosecution will present their case,” Leozack said. 

“Fulcrum,” Jallguar said. “Please state for the assembled court what you were trained to do in the event of an attack on your workplace.” 

Fulcrum thought that this line of questioning was a good start. “I was trained to preserve Decepticon assets. To not waste anything needlessly: materiel, knowledge, and especially personnel.” Deathsaurus would like placing added emphasis on personnel. Hopefully Leozack would like it too. 

But Leozack seemed distracted, putting his hand to his audio as though he were listening to inter-Decepticon radio. Fulcrum frowned. What was the point of this trial if the judge wasn’t paying attention? 

“On the day in question, you were in a particular location which had a specific attack response plan. Can you tell the court what it was?” Jallguar asked. 

Fulcrum blinked. Blueprint had run her team through the drill so often that Fulcrum could repeat it from memory. “When an Autobot threat is detected, the immediate response is to activate or acquire weaponry. Look to your unit head for guidance in the counterattack. If your unit head is unavailable, defend Decepticon assets to the best of your ability.” 

“And did you do this?” 

“Yes.” Fulcrum felt pleased that he’d gotten the word out so emphatically. “Replacing equipment is much easier than replacing knowledge and skills. When it became obvious that we would not be able to stop the Autobot advance, our priority changed from repelling the assault to preserving Decepticon assets.” 

“Tell the court where exactly you were working at that time. Describe the building.” 

Jallguar seemed to be waiting for one specific answer. Fulcrum felt his fuel tank sink when he realized what it was. 

“We were working planetside at a forward operating base.” 

Everyone in the room already knew that. Jallguar clearly wanted to make him say it. 

“The base was built into the side of a mountain, in a natural cave,” Fulcrum continued. “My team was working in a location near the outer wall so we could watch the progress of our machinery through the windows.” 

“Was there anything else in the preservation plan that was unique to your particular location?” 

Fulcrum faltered. “There was a—a portcullis door separating the outer wall from the interior keep.” 

“So, most of the base was located within the mountain, but you were in a more vulnerable position outside the secure walls.” 

“That is correct.” There was no point in telling an obvious lie. 

“Did you shut that door when the Autobots breached the outer wall?” Jallguar asked. 

Fulcrum remembered the panic and confusion when the Autobots blasted a hole into the base and entered the place where Fulcrum had been working. All of his co-workers had engaged the enemy, two or three Decepticons per Autobot, and the Autobots had _still_ been looking around for targets. Technicians were no match for Wreckers. 

They _had_ been Wreckers, hadn’t they? 

Fulcrum remembered the laser bolts from the Decepticon technicians’ handheld blasters bouncing off the Autobots’ reinforced hides. Their weapons weren’t intended for use against heavily armoured soldiers. 

Fulcrum remembered cowering under his desk, looking at the portcullis door’s controls from across the room. 

He reminded himself that obvious lies would get him nowhere. 

_Tell the truth now, and maybe they’ll believe you when you explain why you ran._

“No,” he said. “First of all, those weren’t ordinary Autobots. They were _Wreckers._ And there were four of them between me and the controls!” 

“Do you understand that the most important Decepticon asset is _people_?” Jallguar demanded. “Like your _co-workers_?” 

Fulcrum’s strategy had backfired. He’d tried to emphasize personnel to explain why he saved _himself_. Jallguar had clearly interpreted it as a reason to save his _colleagues_. 

The jury was looking at him expectantly. Fulcrum said the first excuse that came to his mind. “That’s, um, that’s not what I learned in basic training.” 

“Do you think Deathsaurus cares about basic training?” Jallguar folded his arms across his chest. “Your Honour, the prosecution would like to submit for the record Exhibit A, surveillance video proving that the portcullis door remained open for the entire attack, and that unit Fulcrum was conscious and able to move towards the door’s controls should he so choose.” 

“Admitted,” Leozack said. 

Fulcrum clutched the rail in front of him. “I couldn’t close it! It was—it was the _Wreckers_! If I’d moved out from behind my desk I would have been killed on the spot. I only survived because I stayed hidden! There weren’t enough of us to keep all the Autobots distracted long enough for anyone to use the door controls. My…my coworkers didn’t close it either…” 

“Your coworkers are dead,” Jallguar pointed out. 

“And I would be too if I’d thrown away my life against a superior force!” Fulcrum spread his hands, palms extended. “And there’d be nobody who knew the intricacies of the terraforming project, and the Decepticon Empire would have wasted valuable time and resources re-discovering what my team already knew. Because of _me_ , the terraforming project is already back on track.” 

That would be worth something, right? Fulcrum had spent the entire morning guiding a new team as they familiarized themselves with the project. He’d done a good job. Surely he’d win some points for that. 

Even if he had done it with an armed guard supervising him. 

“You ran away,” Jallguar challenged. “You fled _off world_.” 

“I, uh, I thought the Wreckers were after me.” Fulcrum hoped he sounded convincing. Truth be told, part of him had known that the Autobots probably had more important things on their minds than chasing down and exterminating one scrawny Decepticon techie. But his survival hinged on convincing Leozack and the jury that his weeks-long flight had been reasonable and understandable. “I knew I needed to lose them before I called for Decepticon help, or else I’d just be luring my rescuers into an ambush. I’m sorry I didn’t surrender to the hunt…the _Decepticons_ who came for me, sooner. I thought they were Autobots, and so, I kept trying to evade them.” 

Fulcrum would be in trouble if Esmeral took the stand. He’d kept running even after he’d seen her. It would be hard to convince the jury that he’d mistaken a gigantic dragon beast for an Autobot. He wondered if he could make them believe that he hadn’t seen her well enough to identify her. 

“Irrelevant,” Leozack said. 

Fulcrum blinked. 

His desertion was _irrelevant_? 

Then what was he on trial for? 

Fulcrum didn’t know. But he _did_ know, with devastaing certainty, that everything was _not_ going to be fine. 


	2. Hammer Down

Chapter Two: Hammer Down 

“Let’s watch the tape,” Leozack suggested in the kind of tone that indicated his words were actually an order. “Kakuryu. Play the surveillance recording.” 

Fulcrum sat down. He tried not to watch as the horrific images replayed on the screen. At the time, he’d been so busy fearing for his own life that he hadn’t seen how his co-workers had died. He didn’t want to see it now. 

He especially didn’t want to see how bad it looked when he was hiding under his desk instead of firing his pistol. Or when he’d made a run for it, scampering out through the hole that the Autobots had used to blast their way in. Fulcrum hung his head, remembering. 

He’d run screaming into the alien landscape while the Autobots were occupied with Deathsaurus. Then he’d stolen a supply shuttle and fled to a space station on the far side of the system, where he’d booked a ticket to Cuddlex where he’d hitched a ride on a freighter to Femax…and that was where Esmeral and her hunting squad had run him to ground. 

Fulcrum looked up when the courtroom echoed with a horrific roar. The surveillance camera showed Deathsaurus charging onto the scene. Autobot weapons struck him in the wings and the left arm as he dashed straight to the controls. An Autobot—Raincloud, Fulcrum thought—buried a dagger in his breastplate, but Deathsaurus would not move away from the controls. He stood there, guarding the descending gate, enduring the Autobot attack until the portcullis was shut. Then he’d blasted the controls with his rifle, ensuring it stayed that way. 

Kakuryu stopped the tape. 

A roar of protest rose from the assembly. In the jury box, Killbison rose to his feet. “I motion to keep it running.” 

Leozack raised an optic ridge. “Haven’t we already seen the relevant part?” 

“We want to see our fearsome leader kick aft.” 

Murmurs of assent filled the room. 

Leozack rolled his optics. “I put this question to popular vote. Who wants to see our fearsome leader kick aft?” 

Fulcrum didn’t bother voting. He didn’t need to. Pretty much every other Decepticon in the courtroom, including Blue Bacchus, had his hand in the air. 

“The ayes have it,” Leozack said. Before he could tell Kakuryu to press play, another juror stood up. Drillhorn, this time. “Yes?” 

“Is Deathsaurus…I mean, does he still function?” The Warworld’s chief warrrant officer wrung his hands, betraying his concern for his warlord.

“Chief Medical Officer Requiem has assured me Deathsaurus will make a full recovery.” 

Fulcrum guessed that Leozack’s earlier distraction must have been a conversation with Requiem. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. Leozack had obviously set aside formality because he cared about what happened to Deathsaurus, instead of maintaining the affectation that as a judge, he was above emotion. A judge who recognized the validity of feelings might sympathize with someone like Fulcrum. 

Or he might hold Fulcrum responsible for Deathsaurus getting hurt in the first place. 

Fulcrum’s gut twisted. If he’d succeeded in shutting that door, Deathsaurus wouldn’t have had to take on the Wreckers alone. 

_And if you tried, died, and failed, Deathsaurus would still have had to take on the Wreckers alone._

Would Leozack recognize that? Would he care if he did? 

Fulcrum tried to drag his mind away from these fruitless thoughts, but after three seconds of watching the video, he found himself closing his optics. He’d never had much stomach for gore, and the video had it in spades. 

The Autobots quickly gave up on stopping a big, powerful mech like Deathsaurus with bullets and lasers. Instead, they’d done their level best to gut him with whatever melee weapon they had on hand. 

Deathsaurus had taken an ax to the face, and Fulcrum could have gone the rest of his life without seeing what happened when Roadbuster yanked the ax free. He also could have gone the rest of his life without seeing what happened next. Deathsaurus, his working optics blinded by energon and oil, his rage spurred by agonzing pain, abandoned his bipedal form for his creature shape. Its optics both worked perfectly. So did its beak and all those serrated teeth. Roadbuster was out of range. Raincloud was not. 

The courtroom cheered. Fulcrum felt sick. 

He forced himself to take deep breaths. He lit his optics, but kept them out of focus. He had to look like he was watching the video. He was a good, devoted member of the crew who did the same things all his squadmates did, like shout his approval when Deathsaurus chewed up and swallowed down someone’s inner workings. 

Truth be told, part of him was _glad_ that Deathsaurus was in the medbay. He could easily imagine this lot perfoming executions by shoving their condemned prisoners into a cage with their own field commander. 

Fortuantely, Deathsaurus wouldn’t be hungry tonight. He’d be sleeping off whatever repairs Requiem and Mortua had performed today. 

Fulcrum heard Blue Bacchus moving beside him. Chairs scraped. Hands clapped. Fulcrum lit his optics and saw the assembled mechanisms on their feet, delivering a standing ovation. On the screen, Decepticon reinforcements rushed to Deathsaurus’s side, and Roadbuster hauled Raincloud’s body—or what was left of it—behind him as he fled. Fulcrum quickly stood up to join in the applause. 

Leozack stopped the video again. “This court is called back to order.” 

The audience fell silent and took their seats again. 

“The prosecution rests, Your Honour,” Jallguar said. 

Fulcrum felt a sense of relief. Esmeral wouldn’t be taking the stand after all. She wouldn’t testify to hunting Fulcrum through the streets of Femax while he tried, desperately, to find some way to get off world without her knowing 

Then the courtroom doors flew open, hitting the wall with a resounding _clang_. 

Leozack startled and rose to his feet. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. 

Fulcrum’s sense of relief abruptly vanished. 

The assembly stood as well, turning towards the doors. Murmurs began circulating. Fulcrum tried to see, but the taller Decepticons around him blocked his view of the doors. 

Something was wrong. Leozack should be slamming his gavel and saying something snippy like _who disrupts these proceedings?_

“Are you…” Leozack stammered. 

The sepulchural voice that answered sent shivers down Fulcrum’s spine. It was the reason Fulcrum tried very hard to let his self-repair take care of any minor scrapes he might develop. Chief Medical Officer Requiem, with his dim optics and cold hands, bore an uncanny resemblance to a corpse. Behind his back they whispered things like _Cryptkeeper_ and _sparkeater_ and _the walking dead_. 

Though Fulcrum had never seen anything to prove that any of the rumors about Requiem were true, neither could he shake his instinctive reaction every time he found himself in the Chief Medical Officer’s unsettling presence. Which was as little as possible. 

Now Requiem stood in the doorway like an omen of doom, a wraith in glossy black and polished silver, as elegant and ominous in bipedal form as he was in his cyber-hearse alt mode. “Let him say his peace or I’ll never get him back to medbay,” Requiem said. 

Leozack nodded. “Court, be seated.” 

The assembly obeyed. Fulcrum stayed standing just an instant longer than everyone else, so he saw who was standing _beside_ Requiem. 

Requiem made Fulcrum uneasy. His companion made Fulcrum almost black out with sheer insensiate terror. 

Really, Fulcrum should have expected the sensations of shock and revulsion and horror that flooded through him at the sight of the new arrival. He’d seen the video. He’d watched Raincloud tear off Deathsaurus’s left wing. He’d observed Roadbuster pulling his ax out of Deathsaurus’s face. He’d witnessed another Autobot using a rotating saw to sever Deathsaurus’s right arm at the elbow. 

But seeing it on a screen was one thing, and having Deathsaurus show up _here_ , his wing stump trailing sparking wires, his left optic socket a gaping chasm, his right arm clamped off, a hole from a sword in his chestplate, his own energon still oozing up from his joints…that was something entirely different. Fulcrum could smell spilled fuel and the stink of death and gunpowder. It _had_ to hurt. Had to be agonizing, really. But Deathsaurus didn’t stagger like a mechanism with all his pain sensors turned down. He moved down the center aisle of the courtroom like the general he was, head held high, left heel digging a martial cadence on the floor. Requiem followed silently in his wake like a specter. 

Fulcrom knew that Deathsaurus was here for _him personally_. 

Leozack rose to his feet and slid off the judge’s throne. Deathsaurus took it. There were no words exchanged. 

With Leozack at his right hand, and Requiem at his left, Deathsaurus fixed all three remaining optics on Fulcrum. Fulcrum imagined three targeting reticles all lined up on him: spark, brain, t-cog. A triple tap. 

But when Deathsaurus spoke, his voice was quiet, barely audible. “Fulcrum. Do you understand what you’ve done?” 


	3. Back on the Chain Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so delighted by the support I've seen for my gen fic - this one and "Monument To Your Sins" especially. Thank you!
> 
> #

Chapter Three: Back on the Chain Gang 

Fulcrum drew a deep breath into his vents. This wasn’t so bad, really. 

He’d expected Deathsaurus to stalk over here, grab him by the throat and rip his head off. Or at least to _yell_. It seemed that he was being given a chance to explain himself after all. 

“I fled because I believed that the Wreckers were pursuing me.” Fulcrum was proud of his ability to keep his voice steady. “I recognize that I disobeyed orders to drop the gate and I accept the consequences of that choice. I believed that obeying those orders would have resulted in a critical loss of knowledge and skills that would have impeded our goals and harmed the Decepticon Cause. I needed to survive so that I could get the terraforming mission back on track.” He’d repeated himself a little, but he knew he needed to explain himself to Deathsaurus. “I made my choice in the best interests of the Decepticon Empire.” 

Deathsaurus’s optics widened in surprise. “You let your comrades die.” His voice, clearly audible now, sounded incredulous. 

“I couldn’t save them. I would only have died in the attempt. All I could salvage was my own knowledge and skill—my contribution to the Cause.” 

Deathsaurus tilted his head in a gesture of curiosity. Energon dripped out of his empty optic socket. “How do you _live_ with yourself?” 

“Sir?” Fulcrum felt confused. There was a sinking sensation in his fuel tanks. 

Deathsaurus leaned forward. Intense. Overpowering. Even from this distance. “They were your _comrades_. And you _betrayed_ them.” 

“I was up against the _Wreckers_!” Fulcrum knew he’d lost his cool and couldn’t help it. “It’s _insane_ to take them on. It’s…it’s not _reasonable_ to ask that of me.” 

Fulcrum realized, belatedly, that he was arguing with a mech who’d done exactly that. 

Deathsaurus’s gaze darkened. Fulcrum saw what was left of his wings quiver. 

“You’re a _warlord_ ,” Fulcrum said hastily, “for a _reason_. I’m just a technician. I couldn’t have killed a Wrecker.” 

“You could have pulled a lever,” Jallguar pointed out with a hiss. Not particularly professional behaviour from the prosecution. 

Fulcrum felt emboldened by Jallguar’s behaviour. “Yeah, if I wanted to get _slaughtered._ Be serious. Who here would have done that? Pulled that lever while the Wreckers tore you apart?” 

The courtroom fell into silence. 

Fulcrum scanned the room, seeing countless optics watching him dispassionately. The sinking feeling became a freefall. 

And Fulcrum knew, with devastating certainty, that _all_ of them would have pulled that lever. No matter the cost. 

That was what Deathsaurus’s little _cult_ did. Live, or die, as one. 

Fulcrum hadn’t signed up for _that_. 

Agonized, he turned his face towards Blue Bacchus. Bacchus was frowning in a way that did not bode well for Fulcrum’s exoneration. His defense council shook his head disapprovingly. 

They were all _crazy!_

“Defense, do you wish to present your case?” Leozack asked, raising an optic ridge, as though there was no possible counterargument against the the most incriminating testimony possible: Fulcrum’s own words. 

“Your Honour,” Blue Bacchus said, then, with a nod to Deathsaurus, “Commander.” He cleared his throat. “Clearly you can tell that my client’s brain module is malfunctioning…” 

Fulcrum’s jaw dropped. He managed, just in the nick of time, to avoid speaking his thoughts out loud. Blue Bacchus was mounting an insanity defense? 

He wasn’t _insane_. The rest of the Warworld was! 

But with another look at Deathsaurus, Fulcrum decided that he would play crazy as much as it took to avoid being locked in a cage with his own Commander. 

“You heard him state his belief that the Wreckers were pursuing him,” Blue Bacchus said. “That the reason it took Esmeral’s hunting pack several weeks to track him down was because his paranoid delusions were causing him to actively work to escape her, out of an irrational belief that her squad was, in fact, the Wreckers. In such a case, it would be easy to understand that the Autobots’ initial attack traumatized Fulcrum to such an extent that he was not unwilling but in fact _unable_ to carry out his duty.” 

Leozack snorted. “Really, Blue? Incompetence isn’t that much better than selfishness, is it?” His gaze fixed on Fulcrum. “Fulcrum of Vaporex _swore_ he could do everything in his job description. One of which—the very first item, I believe—was _protect his comrades with his life._ If he couldn’t do it, he shouldn’t have lied and said he could. If he couldn’t gauge his own abilities, he ought to have said so. No illness exonerates a mech for failing to be as good as his word. Now eleven of our crewmates are in the morgue and I am prepared to hold Fulcrum responsible for his vow.” 

Fulcrum swallowed hard. Yes, he’d said he could do his duty. But _every_ new recruit said that. It was _expected_. Fulcrum had never dreamed that he would be held to this—this insane _ride or die_ standard that everyone on the Warworld seemed to think was totally _normal_. Where someone’s promise meant more than their life. 

Why did _he_ have to plead insanity when it was obviously Deathsaurus’s entire crew who were completely mad? 

“Not to mention,” Requiem added with a sepuchural rumble of his engine, “that we _cannot_ expect our esteemed leader to make a _habit_ of compensating for the failures of his crew.” 

Most of the others in this room applauded this statement to show their agreement. 

Deathsaurus shot Requiem what might have been a glare. Requiem did not flinch. He appeared entirely prepared to stand by his statement, whether Deathsaurus liked it or not. 

Deathsaurus curled his lip and growled, but that was all. 

Fulcrum looked at Deathsaurus again, thought about the video where Deathsaurus had been chewing on Raincloud’s innards, and reminded himself that he was going to do whatever he had to in order to avoid that fate. 

Blue Bacchus looked over at Fulcrum. “Do you have anything to add?” 

“Yes.” Fulcrum cleared his throat. “It’s obvious to me now that I don’t function at the level of the rest of this crew. I tried—I thought I could do it—but I failed. I can’t live up to your standards. I don’t belong in your ranks. I hope that I can transfer to a useful role in the rear of the lines, where I can continue to serve the Empire to the best of my ability.” Fulcrum hoped that Leozack and Deathsaurus hadn’t heard his knees knocking together. 

He tried to stay hopeful. If this trial got him transferred to a safe position in the rear, then maybe it would all be worth it. No more nightmares about being attacked by Autobots and dragged into combat. No more panic attacks when he imagined his frame pierced by gunfire or slashed with blades. No more dull background horror in his brain while he was trying to do his job. No more commanding officer with _Death_ in his name. 

Blue Bacchus sighed. “The defense rests.” 

Leozack glanced over at the jury. “Shall we adjourn the jury for deliberations?” 

Instead, the entire jury raised their hands. Fulcrum didn’t know what that meant, but he already knew that Deathsaurus’s crew didn’t exactly follow standard courtroom procedure. 

“Let the jury speak their verdicts,” Leozack said with a smirk. 

Fulcrum listened to each member of the jury say the word “guilty” in turn. Each word felt like a lash against his spark. Even Blueprint didn’t hesitate to condemn him. 

Leozack laced his hands behind his head. “My sentiments exactly.” He glanced at Deathsaurus. “So, am I still the judge, or have you got this?” 

“Wait,” Fulcrum blurted. “I just told you I couldn’t help it!” He was already dead; why not make one last desperate plea? “I beg the mercy of the court!” 

Fulcrum was looking at Leozack, but Deathsaurus replied. The Warworld commander’s voice was measured as he enunciated every word. “Eleven of your comrades are dead. You abandoned them to their fate. No amount of apology can change that. No amount of extenuating circumstances can undo it. Intentional or no, they’re dead because of you, and your actions have consequences.” 

Fulcrum felt sick. This wasn’t a real trial. This was a kangaroo court. The Warworld crew had already decided that he was guilty. 

“I couldn’t help it,” Fulcrum repeated miserably. 

Deathsaurus’s remaining optics flashed, and his talons sank into the metal of the throne, but when he answered, his voice was colder than ever. “And _I_ wake up every morning with an urge to kill everything in sight, and somehow I _can_ help it. And if I _didn’t_ then it would be my crew’s _obligation_ to eliminate the danger I posed, _decisively_ and _permanently_. _Your_ problems are a _threat_ to the rest of my crew. I cannot change the past but I _can_ make certain that you never endanger anyone _else_.” 

Leozack banged his gavel. “This court finds Fulcrum of Vaporex guilty of petty treason.” He glanced at Deathsaurus. “I’ll leave the punishment to you, Commander.” 

Deathsaurus stood, drawing himself up to his full height. “We will be leaving the punishment to the Decepticon penal system. Leozack, I want you to contact the Decepticon Disciplanary Commission and arrange for a transfer for Fulcrum of Vaporex to whatever facility they choose.” 

Killbison jumped up in the jury box. “Hey, wait. What’s going to happen to him?” 

“Yeah,” Guyhawk chimed in. “We want to know what’s going to happen to him.” 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to him,” Deathsaurus said, “and I don’t _care_ as long as the matter is _resolved_. As soon as we contact the DDC, it’s out of our hands. All I can say is that Fulcrum will _not_ be putting any more of us in danger. Leozack, I’d like you to request of the DDC that they make sure Fulcrum does not have the opportunity to put anyone _else_ in danger either.” His optics flashed. “The solution to this problem should be _permanent_.” 

Only now did Fulcrum realize that Deathsaurus’s calm was far more lethal than his fury. 

Fulcrum had expected the Warworld commander’s anger to come in the form of shouting and stomping, hitting, rending, perhaps even a graphic and gory death. He realized, too late, that Deathsaurus’s rage was not a blade but a laser: cold, precise, and targeting exactly the areas that hurt most. 

Deathsaurus was sending Fulcrum, alone, to face an unknown death that he could not run away from. A perfect nightmare for a coward like him. 

“I’m sorry,” Fulcrum whispered. 

Deathsaurus huffed, turning his head away, and Fulcrum realized that the warlord had taken his apology as an insult. 

“Get him out of here,” Leozack said. 


	4. The Unforgiven 2

Chapter Four: The Unforgiven 2 

Deathsaurus stook in the center of the viewing deck’s panoramic window and watched the prison transport ship depart. His predator’s hearing detected a knock on the door, even across the large viewing deck. 

The viewing deck was open to the public. Entrants didn’t need to knock. 

Deathsaurus felt a pang of regret. He was usually open about his feelings, but he hated the thought that he had terrified his own crew into thinking they had to knock in order to enter a communal area. 

“Come in,” he called. 

The door slid back, revealing Leozack. Deathsaurus felt that pang again. Leozack and Lyzack were always the ones to approach him when he was in a foul mood. When nobody else dared. 

Deathsaurus was amazed at how his relationship with Leozack was so tempestuous as of late, what with Leozack’s constant cheating and Deathsaurus’s vicious possessiveness, yet when the chips were down, all of that was put aside. They were family, first and foremost, no matter how much they drove each other mad. It made Deathsaurus consider that their relationship would have been better had they agreed to treat one another as brothers all along, instead of trying to be lovers. But that was yet another action that could never be undone. 

Looking back, knowing what little he knew at the time, he would not have done anything different. Therefore, there was no use in regrets. There was nothing to be done for it but to carry on from here. 

Leozack shut the door behind him before he spoke. “Requiem wants you back in medbay shortly. I told him to wait a while longer.” Leozack came closer before he asked, “How are you doing?” 

Deathsaurus sighed. Leozack really did know him a little too well. His remaining wing drooped, and he glanced back at the window. The tiny lights of the prison shuttle’s engines were almost indistinguishable from the stars. 

“Do you think I was a coward?” he asked softly. 

For any subject other than their relationship, Deathsaurus could trust Leozack to be honest, even if it hurt. _Especially_ if it hurt. Leozack always told him what he needed to know. So many other mechanisms didn’t understand that Deathsaurus needed hard truths more than he needed pretty lies. How could he truly make wise decisions if the facts of a matter had been concealed from him? Leozack wouldn’t put Deathsaurus’s feelings ahead of the facts, and Deathsaurus loved him for it. 

Leozack came up beside him and frowned. “A coward? _You?_ How so?” 

Deathsaurus gestured with his chin at the departing shuttle. “I don’t like to ask Decepticon bureaucracy to take care of my problems for me. I feel as though I should solve them _in house_ , not pass them off to someone else.” 

“We’re talking about an execution.” 

“How does that absolve me of responsibilty to clean up my own mess?” 

“Just because you’re technically authorized to carry out disciplinary executions doesn’t mean it doesn’t seem like abuse of power to outsiders,” Leozack explained. “Better to let the system handle it. Turning Fulcrum over to the Decepticon Disciplinary Commission makes you look as though you trust our social institutions.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Of course you don’t, but now you won’t have to deal with new recruits being afraid you’ll kill them for no good reason. Instead of being _Deathsaurus, the tyrant who murders his own troops_ , you’ll be Deathsaurus, the calm and rational administrator, who turns lawbreakers over to the authorities. It’s easier to get what you want when you control your reputation.” 

“Ah. That’s a point I hadn’t considered.” 

“Of course you hadn’t.” Leozack put his hand on Deathsaurus’s remaining forearm. “So let’s talk about what was really going through that feral mind of yours. What could possibly make you feel like a coward? Why do you think that you should have executed Fulcrum yourself?” 

“His actions got his own crewmates killed. His offense was against us. Against me and mine. He hurt my people, so it should be me delivering the consequences, not some strangers far away in Styx.” 

“So.” Leozack drew a deep breath into his vents. “If you’d killed Fulcrum. Would you have stopped there?” He squeezed Deathsaurus’s forearm. “Fresh fuel on your fangs. Fresh kill under your claws. Would you have stopped with Fulcrum?” 

Deathsaurus was silent. He couldn’t look at Leozack. 

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Leozack whispered. 

Deathsaurus could imagine the thick, rich taste of innermost energon on his tongue. His fuel tank growled with hunger. His sentio metallico needed raw fuel to power its repairs to his frame. He could smell Leozack’s scent, feel his warmth. Excitement sparked in his veins. It was time to fight and hunt and feed. 

Wasn’t it? 

Deathsaurus told his feral urges that it absolutely was _not._

“Is that what you think you should have been able to face down?” Leozack asked. “Do you believe you were a coward because you didn’t try?” 

Deathsaurus ground his back teeth together. 

Leozack wouldn’t let it go. “I know what you’re like when you’ve tasted blood. Answer me, Deathsaurus. If you’d torn Fulcrum apart, _would you have been satisfied_?” 

Deathsaurus kept his gaze on the place where the shuttle’s lights had disappeared. When he activated telescopic vision in his upper optics, he could still see the faintest outline of the prison transport. “Of course not. I would have barely gotten started.” His hand furled into a fist. “I like to _think_ I could have held myself back from hurting anyone else, but…I don’t _know_.” He drew air into his intakes. “And I was afraid to find out. Megatron or Shockwave or Scorponok, they could have executed Fulcrum and thought nothing of it afterwards, but I….” He shook his head. “Especially when I’m injured like this. All that extra sentio metallico my creators laced me with wants to repair me, but it needs so much fuel, and fresh fuel tastes best…” 

“Making the safer choice isn’t a bad thing.” Leozack, unafraid, leaned against Deathsaurus’s side. “You didn’t make that choice because you were a coward. For Primus’s sake, you took on the Wreckers _alone_ to protect everyone inside that fortress without a second thought. When Requiem says he wants you to stop putting other people first _that’_ s what he means. Look at you. That heroic nonsense would have killed anyone else.” 

Deathsaurus tried to glower, but he couldn’t help a smile. Leozack and Requiem were looking out for him. 

“It’s not cowardly,” Leozack said, “to refuse to gamble with our lives.” 

Deathsaurus’s smile slipped. “I shouldn’t have to protect my own crew from _myself_.” His remaining wing flared with agitation. Leozack let the feathers buffet against him without moving away. 

“How many times have I heard you say that this isn’t a world that operates the way it _should_ or _ought to._ The _facts_ are that you’re an instinctive predator. Your ironclad rule to never do violence to your own crew keeps your people safe from your feral nature.” 

Deathsaurus couldn’t help but flinch. 

Leozack could be just as blunt with good truths as with bad. “Hey. That’s not a criticism; it’s a fact of your existence. All that extra sentio metallico wants fuel, and your neurocircuitry figured out how to get it, and so you feel the impulse to hunt for it, that’s all. _Morality_ doesn’t come into it.” Leozack paused. “Or rather, morality comes into it when your thinking mind refuses to obey every primitive urge you feel. When you choose what you _will_ do as compared with what you naturally _want_ to do. Executing Fulcrum would break down that protective barrier, and let’s face it, nobody on this Warworld wants to see what’s on the other side. Not your troops, not me, and least of all, not you.” 

Deathsaurus sighed. “I wish I wasn’t like this.” 

Leozack shrugged. “You’ve kept us alive this long. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

“I should have done better.” Deathsaurus’s wing sagged. “I don’t know why I couldn’t teach that mech to put others ahead of himself. Where did I go wrong?” 

“You can’t save everybody.” Leozack slid his hand down Deathsaurus’s arm and twined his fingers between the warlord’s talons. “Maybe cowardice is baked into Fulcrum’s nature the way predation is baked into yours. Maybe he couldn’t help it either. The fact is that his problems put the rest of us at risk, and he would have _kept_ doing it, and people would have kept dying. At least the rest of us are safe from his bungling now. The warden at Styx will see to that.” 

“You’re right.” Deathsaurus took a deep breath. “Fulcrum will never abandon his comrades again.” 

“There, you see?” Leozack leaned against Deathsaurus’s side until the warlord curved his remaining wing around Leozack’s frame. “You did your best. Now let it go.” 

There was no use in regrets when he could not honestly say he would have done anything differently. 

Deathsaurus looked out the window. Even with his telescopic vision activated, he could no longer see the shuttle. 

“It hurts,” he said quietly. “To lose one of my own. Even if he _was_ guilty of petty treason.” 

“I know,” Leozack murmured, and squeezed Deathsaurus’s hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #
> 
> Song credits!  
> "Folsom Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash  
> "Hammer Down" by Billy Dean  
> "Back on the Chain Gang" by The Pretenders  
> "The Unforgiven 2" by Metallica


End file.
